Page 89 of Whispers

She hit at him, tried to scramble away, but he was strong, his body hard from years of athletics, and the more she fought him and struggled, the more insistent he became. “Let go of me, you bastard, don’t—”

But his lips crashed over hers. Hard. Hot. Anxious. Tasting of scotch.

Nausea roiled in her stomach as she fought, her hands scratching and clawing even though her arms were pinned and she couldn’t strike him with any force. She kicked, but he shifted and as she opened her mouth to scream his tongue darted between her teeth. Quick and slick it delved. Possessive and vile. She bit down, but he was quick, the tongue withdrawn as he twisted her around so that her rump butted up against the edge of the desk.

“You little bitch, admit it, you want it. You’re as hot for me as I am for you.”

“No—”

His crotch was pressed against her abdomen, his erection rigid and straining against his fly. The room spun. He kissed her again and lust—raw animal lust and hunger—pulsed in the air.

She realized then that there was no stopping him. She didn’t know what had set him off, but sensed he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d forced his body into hers.

Sick and reeling, she struggled, but by sheer strength he pushed her ever back, his weight bearing down on her, the desk hard and flat beneath her back. “Let go of me!” she yelled when he lifted his head.

“I’ll take care of you.”

“Bull! Let go of me, Weston, or I’ll scream.”

“No one will hear you. The doors are locked, babe, and no one else is here.”

“Go to hell!” She let out a scream to wake the dead, but it only echoed back to her in the small room. Then he was upon her.

His breath was hot, his body heavy, his purpose singular. “Come on, Miranda. Don’t fight it.”

Wrenching her body, she managed to get one hand free and slapped him. Smack! Her palm collided with his cheek. He yelped in pain. “You bitch! You stinking bitch! You’re as bad as your sister!”

“Keep Tessa out of this.”

“I should do to you what I did to her.”

“Wh-what?”

His face, looming over her, was menacing, his skin flushed, his eyes burning with lust. She struggled, but he was strong, his muscles young, firmed and honed by years on the gridiron. He managed to grab both her wrists and haul them over her head to clasp them in the steely fingers of one hand.

“I knew you’d be a fighter.”

“Get off me!”

“What’d you say? Get off on me?” His leer was obscene. “I intend to, baby. Over and over again. If you can give it to that lowlife Riley, then you can damn well spread your legs for me.” With his free hand he unzipped his fly, and Miranda realized that he wouldn’t stop.

“Don’t do this, Weston,” she said, sick at the pleading sound of her voice. He yanked down her skirt. A seam gave way. Miranda thrashed violently as her panties ripped.

She started to scream again, but he placed his mouth over hers, her breasts crushed, his body beginning to move. With his free hand he found the buckle of his pants. They slid to the floor.

Triumph gleamed in his eyes as he poised above her on the desk. “Now, baby,” he growled, breathing heavily and sweating like the animal he was, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

Claire’s heart was a drum, her hands cold as ice as she tugged on her engagement ring. Biting her lip, she waited on the pier near the Taggert sailboat and watched the diamond wink mockingly in the starlight. What was she doing? Breaking up with Harley, wonderful Harley, because of some stupid chemical attraction she felt to Kane Moran. What about all those promises you made, those vows to yourself and to Harley, those indignant protestations you made to every member in your family?

Closing her eyes, she leaned against the rail and heard the gentle clang of a buoy rolling on the tide. Kane was leaving, joining the army, taking off to places unknown, and she’d probably never see him again. Yet she was convinced that she would never be happy with a boy only a month ago she swore she’d love forever.

Tramp!

But then Harley hadn’t been true, either. Whether she wanted to face it or not, he’d kept seeing Kendall, never completely severing their relationship even though he was supposed to be engaged to Claire.

Sighing, she took in a deep breath of salty air and stared at the heavens, where storm clouds were moving restlessly in the dark sky.

She wasn’t alone. The same shadow-thin wharf cat she’d seen during earlier visits to the sailboat slunk past her and hopped lithely into a small fishing boat moored nearby. In another slip, on a sleek yacht, a party was in full swing, voices loud and boisterous, laughter and the sound of the Eagles’ “Hotel California” drifting over the still waters of the bay.